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The lewded, rhythmic ‘squelch' filled the room, echoing throughout static radios and documents filled with unreadable knowledge—Dan Heng promised himself will fix those later, trying to get his thoughts clear or else nothing he typed out would make sense to them. It’s rare to see himself like this, the cold, reserved train guard now found himself trapped in his own river of thoughts, was that need consuming him?
Missing someone so much, failing to please his mournful heart for so long that now whatever’s left on his mushy mind were all sex, all need—so unfathomably unsatisfied that he sought out arousal to soothe himself.
Lust-filled memories, hands caressing the ridges of his sternum, his hips. Praises spilled out from one’s mouth rubs at his brain, hands of Blade stroking his clit, ridged fingers coated in thick layers of bandages—its harshness always grinded against his velvety walls, making him wail out in both pain and pleasure at once. Half pushing Blade away, half begging him to pump more into his sore pussy despite his whiney pleas to stop.
Funny how he had the dare to lie and deprive himself of pleasure in the most intimate moments—then now trying to mimic those motions of his lover. Forcing himself to feel it, shutting out dignity and doubts just for one unrestful night.
Back arched up, pillow underneath with two fingers plunged deep inside, working himself open. Hand pinching, pebbling the pinkish nibbles—mind torn between feeling the sensation or mimicking exactly what the Stellaron hunter did that day to make the memory carved to his brain—so hard to scrape off, no matter how much work Dan Heng buried himself underneath.
He’d tried scissoring, stretching himself wider, eyes clamped shut when his body coils up from the familiar burn instead of loosening and squirting as his fingers pistoned down—unlike when Blade did it, when he can fucks into him with four whole digits and Dan Heng would moan and jerks from immediate pleasure, never pain.
Yes, not the usual Dan Heng, but he had neglected his own sexual desires for so long—perhaps months since the two last met—that stopping now to turn his mind to other matters feels like a cold slap across the face. Especially when Blade’s not here, not guiding him, at all.
Pleasure did not come easily, as if the doubts resurfaced as soon as the anchor left. His lower back hurts, the pleasure didn't poke the right way and felt more like Dan Heng’s trying to exploit his own sensations just to deny needing his guidance.
His selfishness was high, defensive in these private moments, sure—but he hated how himself seemed to need the presence of his partner in crime to probably feel something, let alone reaching an orgasm.
The neglected clit throbbed and ached painfully under his trembling hand, starved of attention, twitching as if begging for direct stimulation. Yet Dan Heng hesitated, restraining himself from pleasure again—knowing he wouldn't be able to hold back the whiny moans if he did.
But they, outside, wouldn’t be able to hear the noises, right? The thought came out half-hearted, Dan Heng couldn't care less, already rubbing slow circles around the sensitive bud. Applying just enough pressure to keep himself teetering near the brink, just enough to make himself drunken in pleasure.
He missed the calloused digits penetrating him so deep, missed how Blade cooed at him while curling his fingers deep inside, touching the intimate spots within—drawing out every slow whines Dan Heng tried to keep in his throat just by quickening his pace, pumping into his channel with much needed friction.
No wonder he remembered it so clearly, rewinding back to when his inner walls clenched around the welcome intrusion, gushing out slick with each stroke, each press at the aching clit sent stars bursting behind his eyelids—making someone so silent like him cried out.
He tried, shamelessly, rocking into his fingers, the other hand desperately pinching at the pinkish nipples—seeking of overwhelm, seeking for that trembling state Blade turned him into, dazed and raw, so out of his brain that all exist was the thought of getting pounded and pressed against the mattress with a weight that breathes.
Loss of composure wasn’t able to pull him back—Dan Heng, still half-ware, realized how much he’d hated his emotional shifts. How from just a radical thought of missing someone turns to something felt so unmannered?
‘Sex’ itself wasn’t impolite, it was art, too. What he hated of himself is how he’s using pleasure to ease down his swelling heart, and to a lust-dazed brain, anything as romantic as the act of missing each other can be dumbed down to just ‘lust’.
Isn't there any better method? Is he just a call, a reluctant message away?
Furthermore, why did Dan Heng do this to himself? For pleasure, or because he yearned for the man and his senses—however possessive, had attached the image of Blade as ‘comfort’? The man covered in bandages and the eyes that pierce, as ‘comfort’?
“Mmnf..” Dan Heng panted heavily, surrendering to this blissful torment, giving in to the sensations overwhelming his body, stripping him away of dignity. One hand pinching at the pinkish nub, squeezing and rolling the nib in between his fingers—like one would inspect a bead. Only difference is how pleasure immediately rushed through him like a shockwave, a trail of sobs and barely held back whimpers spilled out, body coiling up as he squirts.
“Ohh..” He moaned out, head dropping back down the sweat-laced pillow as the mess soon damp the mattress underneath, piss soaking through the delicate folds of his pussy and down the twitching channel below—soon gushing out slick.
But was he done yet? Of course not. Instead of stopping, Dan Heng disrupted the flow of gush coming out his tight pussy, keening loudly as his fingers soon come pistoning back into his sopping cunt—lewded ‘schilck’ filling the air, plus the light smacking of his palm jamming onto the fatty skin of his pussy.
The dual assault sent him through the edge, sobby moans replacing thoughts, his body soon taking the effect of masturbation for so damn long that his nerves now seemed to go beyond ‘sore’, thighs heavy, pussy spamming wildly with waves and waves of ecstasy waiting to be released.
“Ahn—!” With one last curl of his fingers, Dan Heng cried out, cunt gushing out fluid and urine as his body jerked and shuddered with the force of his release. The orgasm crashed over him like strong waves to a shore, making his eyes stung as he saw stars behind his eyelids—pupils widening as if the climax were a drug to his system.
His pussy—however still strong, still convulsing around his fingers, overly sensitive and raw, enough to make an impact on how he moves—oh, Dan Heng was so sure he won’t be able to shift without drawing curious and worried glances to himself.
Dan Heng was boneless as the aftershock subdued, eyes casting down to his stomach as he struggled to catch up his breath—body too exhausted to even squirm when he felt the warm trickle of his cum running down his folds, collected at the cooling pool right beneath his hips.
He sighed, then, realizing the mess’s beyond what he had expected, that either his awful state or the foul smell of sex will catch someone’s attention—could be Pom-pom, or worse, Caelus and his nosiness.
Dan Heng’s fingers, now all soaked in pussy-juice, smelled of the Vidyadhara’s essence—without much thought, nor was he able to think twice—Dan Heng brought those digits to his lips, needily tasting his own cum in a sloppy suckle.
He tasted… strange, of course, a bit savory, buttery warmth mixed with saliva—a weird combination, yes, but if he could ever fuck himself numb again, he would undeniably drink his own semen once more.
“Taste.. good.” He mumbled, voice soft, breaking like a cracked radio.